


Sensitive Matters

by pikkugen



Category: Political RPF - Russian 21st c., Political RPF - US 21st c.
Genre: (actually it was just a too good prompt), Auditive Only Porn, Interpreted Porn, M/M, OMG I Blame My Friends In The Internet They Made Me Do It, Porn, Well not porn as such but strong implications thereof, thank you Helsinki summit for this piece of utter crap, why are you still reading the tags go laugh at the story
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-12 03:25:15
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 704
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15330672
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/pikkugen/pseuds/pikkugen
Summary: The Presidents Trump and Putin meet in Helsinki. Their poor interpreters have to translate everything... and I mean EVERYTHING. Including a top secret meeting of the two Heads of State.





	Sensitive Matters

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to thank the women of GWU, you bastards, for giving me Ideas. I'd like to thank also viu, who translated the two sentences of Russian, and mzzbee for beta and the first laughs. I would also like to thank translators and interpreters in general; they put up with so much weird shit that they deserve to be the heroes of something, even if it's just a silly RPF of two of the most obnoxious leaders this world has known in a while.

The two interpreters shook hands before they entered their respective booths. The Russian one, Mr Ivanov, was a nervous-looking thin man in his mid-thirties and he was Mr Putin’s personal interpreter. Mr Smith, a stocky, calm man in his forties had been chosen after Mr Trump had fired the last one. Both had signed a terrifying amount of confidentiality agreements and been sworn to secrecy and practically threatened with execution if they ever revealed what had transpired, as this was the private meeting of the two most powerful world leaders. Both interpreters were chosen for their expertise, and were steeling themselves to handle anything Presidents Trump and Putin would discuss. But the secrecy surrounding this particular summit unnerved them. 

First of all, the meeting would happen in a private suite of the hotel. Second, the interpreters were explicitly forbidden to be in situ; all communication would be via an encrypted channel, and both leaders would be wearing unnoticeable Bluetooth earpieces with mics. As the men sat down opposite each other, ready to take notes and translate everything their respective clients said, they exchanged a silent, puzzled look before concentrating on their job. 

At first the conversation was just ordinary platitudes; Trump complained about the heat and the lack of American food, Putin answering shortly and shrewdly but never really revealing his thoughts. But just as the interpreters were relaxing, the tone changed. 

Trump was still ranting about the heat, but suddenly Putin suggested laconically: ”If it bothers you so much, take your clothes off,” and there was a rustling noise like he had just ripped his shirt away. Mr Ivanov closed the mic for a second, coughed, and facepalmed with both hands. He scribbled ”I knew this” on a notepad and showed it to Mr Smith, who was still unruffled. His color started to change, though, as Trump replied to this suggestion with an audible gasp of delight and a wet sound that neither man was able to recognize at first. 

”You have abs of steel, Vlad – is it okay if I call you Vlad, bud?” panted Trump, and the nervous Mr Ivanov translated the words like he didn't believe what he was hearing. 

”Let me open the buttons for you,” said Mr Smith, a definite blush rising from under his collar. 

”ваши руки такие большие, Вова,” squealed the Russian interpreter into his microphone, his eyes closed tightly and his hands shaking. 

For a moment there were just some slapping and grinding noises, and Mr Smith dried his face with a Kleenex. 

”Ваш член настолько огромен, Вова,” said Mr Ivanov, and Mr Smith replied, ”It's just your hands... But I like small hands.” Neither could look up from their papers as the noises from the summit room seemed to fill the booth with steam. 

Faithfully they translated each utterance, each endearment, each plea, each swearword and warning of cumming, thinking of the considerable amount of money that was in for this and knowing if they botched this, they'd never work at this level again. 

As the noises subsided into satisfied panting and then light snoring, the interpreters removed their rather damp and hot headsets for a moment. They still couldn't look at each other; the air of the booth was ripe with steamy embarrassment. Mr Ivanov collapsed across the table, practically weeping into his arms; Mr Smith contemplated his shirt that was drenched in sweat. His face was redder than a boiled lobster and he looked like he was on the verge of a heart attack. 

They had emptied their bottles of water and regained some of their composure before their clients awoke, exchanged some muttered endearments, some promises of future meeting, and left. 

For a moment neither moved. Then Mr Ivanov coughed again, shook himself nervously, wiped his sweaty hands on his equally sweaty pants and shyly reached out to Mr Smith, who used the last Kleenex to wipe his hands, grasped the Russian's hand, and muttered, ”You know... I have a wife and three kids. I don't think I'll ever be able to look her in the eye again.” 

”If it's of any comfort, he does this every time,” sighed Mr Ivanov, gave a weak smile and slipped out of the room.

**Author's Note:**

> The Russian sentences are as follows:  
> "Your hands are so big, Vova" and  
> "Your member is so huge, Vova". My translator assured me that's how a Russian would shorten the name.
> 
> I'm not even sorry.


End file.
